writing | jmgoyder

My mother’s courage

by jmgoyder

My mother has had an extraordinary year and somehow survived it. The other day, she found a diary entry. The following words are hers.

Despair.

Written in the midst of recovery and rehab after falling off my bike and two fractures in the pelvis and three in the wrist resulting in a plate. Three and a half weeks in hospital and six weeks with home care after returning home.

Added to this was the possibility of failing eyesight, when my second eye was diagnosed with wet macular, which had taken away the sight in my left eye.

I wrote:

Can I find a way to meet this new challenge, this extra disability. For yes. I am disabled. I hear perhaps 10% of conversation, lectures, discourse, chat, and now, my eyesight too, is dim.

My world, once sharp and clear and vibrant with song, and colour and clarity, is muted, damped down, edges dulled, disintegrating. I can’t remember what it was to step out, sure footed and light hearted. “Take care”, “hold rail” “look down” “the footpath’s out to get you.”

Care free. What’s that? Unthinking, devil-may-care, impulsive? Gone now, forever?

Would hiding in the safety of my home, no risk, be better than this half life?

Is the smile becoming fixed, a give away. That vacant, lost, bewildered look that usually only comes with senility.

But

Not gone in mind, though sight and sound have left me early, far too soon.

I must decide. These storms of sorrow washing over me to drown my essence. Can I push up the trapdoor of this thing that threatens me. Have I the strength or will to fight the demon of despair .

Count what you have, not what you’ve lost. You know that others have lost more. Yes. Much, much more.

What should I change? How do I embrace and prosper?

Look in, look out, look up, look here.

The things I used to do so well, now cause me anguish. What substitutes? What gifts and visions unexplored?

Show me O God, what plan you are enfolding. The years ahead must hold a treasure true, as yet uncovered and unseen, for grief and loss has hidden you from me.

Meg

2013.

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Sep 13

Self-censorship
by jmgoyder

During the time I taught creative writing units at the university, I remember saying to the students, “Just pretend your parents aren’t looking over your shoulder and write freely; don’t censor yourself!” This was very effective in some ways (a lot of powerful writing was produced), but it was also problematic in that sometimes I would become privy to secrets never shared before. So, over time (I taught for nearly 20 years), I changed my instructions to, “There will be no gutspill please!”

Well, blogging is now a well-established form of published writing and self-censorship is probably a conundrum that many bloggers wrestle with. When I began my blog here on WordPress, I used my own name but, in an attempt to be semi-anonymous and private, I called Ming, ‘Son’ and Anthony ‘Husband’. Eventually I began calling them by their real names (with their permission) and I felt comfortable doing so despite some of our situations being uncomfortable.

This week I have had the self-censorship wrestle with myself, yet again, because I was writing about Ming, and I realized that maybe the issues we were having were better kept within our little household. So I deleted two posts (realizing of course that they are still readable via email notification but I offed them from the blog).

But yesterday’s post deletion (my 3rd in two days – how embarrassing) was different. In that post I had related an anecdote that could have been misconstrued as black humor about an issue that is, and never will be, funny. I didn’t receive any negative comments, but I still felt a bit yucky about my anecdote; hence the deletion.

Today, I discovered a blogger whose experience with grief and loss is so profound that it took my breath away. I am yet to make contact with her, beyond following her blog today, but I want to because she has drawn my attention to issues I didn’t want to recognize, not just in my own life, but in the general community.

I am glad I deleted that post.

PS. Internet is only working spasmodically until new modem is figured out.

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Aug 15

Middle-aged? No way – I’m only 54!
by jmgoyder

I’ve just realized that not only am I, technically, middle-aged, but I have been for some time. Shock! This realization has been due to a series of health mishaps in the last month.

1. A gastric virus that had me bedridden/bathroom-ridden for two weeks, and a subsequent suspected cracked rib;
2. A rotten tooth that had to be extracted, culminating in an ongoing dry socket infection.
3. An eye test that revealed I need glasses for both distance and reading, and that I have early signs of macular degeneration, and that my strabismus (squint) is quite pronounced due to the fact that I can only use one eye at a time.
4. The flu (the sniffy, coughy, fevery one).
5. Confirmation of cracked rib today due to re-fracture.

Okay so this morning I had to take Anthony to our doctor for the routine burning off of multiple skin cancers but I made a double appointment so I could discuss my ailments as well. As a result I am on two courses of antibiotics for my tooth infection and the flu. Then I took Ants out to brunch. He was fairly mobile at the doctor’s but by the time we got to the restaurant, he needed the wheelchair. Hoisting him out of the car into the chair and racing into the restaurant because it was windily raining, then twisting us both into the far-too-small disabled toilet, then getting us to a table, I must have re-cracked the rib because, as we ate our meal, I experienced an increasingly severe pain to my right side every time I bent or turned. Once it was just to get Ants’ feet off the footplates of the wheelchair and I think that was the clincher. By the time I got him back to the nursing lodge, it was agony, so I raced down to the walk-in chiropractor (my brother is a chiro but he is away at the moment) and he confirmed that my rib was indeed fractured.

The doctor, optometrist and chiropractor all used the phrase “at your age” which I found alarming until I got home and googled “middle-age”. That’s when I made my discovery so I am sitting here quietly now, absorbing the fact that I am middle-aged.

Oh well, I guess I don’t need to stress about any wrinkles I have anymore because you’re allowed to have those when you’re middle-aged. And that’s a great relief!

This photo was taken before I was middle-aged. The little alien on my lap is Ming, now 19.

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Aug 11

Ming’s adventure 1
by jmgoyder

Ming is a big, loud extrovert of a son, but with a soft heart and a philosophical nature. I am so proud of the way he has coped with Anthony’s admission to the nursing lodge, simultaneous back surgery, and my subsequent bout of depression. These have presented him with some very difficult hurdles, like having to quit football, having to wait a year for his back to heal before going for his driver’s licence, having to wrestle with his feelings about Anthony’s deterioration, having to comfort me, and having to put up with the peacocks pooping at the door of his shed because they are so attracted to their own window reflections.

Late this afternoon, after milking, he is driving himself up to Perth (Western Australia’s capital city – 2 hours north of our farm) to see a band called karnivool perform. Even though he is staying overnight at his friend’s place, he is insisting on going to the performance by himself. I wanted so much to go with him (not to the concert, but for the drive – you know, to help him navigate the city) – but he gets furious at the suggestion. “I’m 19, Mum! I can look after myself!”

I feel like I felt, ten years ago, when he went on his first school excursion (a whole week!) I remember that Anthony and I took him up to the local primary school, saw him onto the bus, and I sobbed all the way home. I anticipate that I will want to sob like that when I wave him off in a couple of hours, so I will bite my lip. He has already told me to stop worrying or it will ruin his adventure so I will have to put on a mask of vicarious excitement for him and, as he says, “Stop being such a mother!” He is buzzing with excitement with just a slight hint of nerves. He will be okay. I will swallow my anxiety and give him my biggest grin and hug of confidence. Yes!

I just can’t wait for tomorrow afternoon when he will be safe at home again – our beautiful son! (Some of these photos have been posted before – sorry but I’m a bit sentimental today).

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Aug 6

So much rain!
by jmgoyder

It has been raining solidly for over 48 hours, and so wet here on the farm that Ming got the old ute (truck) bogged just outside his shed this afternoon, after milking!

Today I went into town and picked up Ants to take him to my mother’s place for afternoon tea (chocolate pudding that I had made the day before). Several weeks ago, I stopped using the wheelchair taxi for outings like this because I experienced a strange new surge in energy and willingness to take him out. My mother showed us more photos of Scotland, including one of her with the bride and groom.

Then she showed us some of Mr Tootlepedal (my blogging friend) and his wife. I felt a vicarious sense of pleasure to meet them through my mother. They have a B&B and my mother stayed with them just before my niece’s wedding. She told me that the Tootlepedals, and their house and garden, were just as charming as I had imagined.

This is the link to the Tootlepedal blog-post that mentioned my ma.

The Wizard of Oz

Anthony said my chocolate pudding was dry (you see, this where Ming gets his tact haha!) But his little highness polished off the rest tonight whilst watching a very serious episode of Home and Away.

And I am now cooking some soup!

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Jul 27

Happy
by jmgoyder

I think feeling happy is a bit different to being happy. Maybe this is because when you simply are happy (because your bank account, love-life, health, job, family and friends etc. are all okay) you don’t notice the happiness; you don’t appreciate it. But when you feel happy, you are noticing the fragile edges, blossoms, and sunsets of whatever happiness is and you are learning how to create it day by day by day.

Today, my happiness was hugging my baby peacock, having lunch at an Indian restaurant with my friend/niece, Jane, buying baking utensils for my new cooking phase, watching TV with Anthony in the nursing lodge whilst giving him the last of the sticky date pudding with lots of thickened cream, knowing my ma will be home soon from Scotland, riding my bike, watching ‘Undercover Boss’ with Ming, and looking forward to tomorrow’s unfolding.

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Jul 24

Ming’s shed
by jmgoyder

Ming and I don’t argue anymore now that he is living in the shed. This is good. If I irritate him, he can go to his shed; if he irritates me, I can send him to his shed.

The shed/home was Anthony’s conception over two years ago and he still gets a thrill out of seeing its very gradual progression from old shed to teenage abode. At the moment the floor is still concrete and there are no blinds to keep the sun out, but Ming has just ordered both and paid half (he is working full-time now).

He doesn’t have ablutions over there, or cooking facilities, so he still has to come home a lot (ha – I still have the power at a distance of 50 metres!)

Family Friendship Happiness joy Teenagers Wings

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Jun 20

Nosey!
by jmgoyder

It’s all very odd to me, and possibly illusory, but for the last few days our visits to Anthony, little drives here and there and, today, Ming’s famous NOSEY with Anthony, have reproduced a longlost joy.

Sorry – that sentence was far too long. Oh, and what is a NOSEY? It’s when you ‘kiss’ someone with your nose. We three have now been doing this for nearly 20 years. It’s quite pleasant.

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Jun 19

You’re the only one left
by jmgoyder

Anthony and I exchange I love you as if we are some sort of romantically tragic play that never reaches its denoument.

But the other night on the phone the script shifted, rustling the worn paragraphs of our repetitive goodnight conversation.

Me: I love you.
Anthony: You’re the only one left.

That shocked me a bit, but he didn’t say it self-pityingly at all; he said it with certainty, like a simple fact.

Family Grief Happiness LOVE STORY Marriage Parkinson's disease Parkinson's disease dementia

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Jun 13

One-liners
by jmgoyder

Anthony has always been really good at encapsulating what would take me paragraphs to describe. And, in between the worsening mumblingishness of his speech, he comes out with extraordinary witticisms.

This afternoon, for instance, we were drinking red wine and watching an appallingly good soap opera on TV when the guy in the next room (I’ll call him John for anonymity) accidentally walked in.

I see Anthony’s eyes, usually expressionless, harden. So I get up and gently steer John back into the hallway where a nurse takes his arm and tells him she has made a cup of tea. He looks back at me and says, Tomorrow we gistust this potatoes worry, okay?

Leaping back into Anthony’s room (before he drinks my wine!) I ask him about John.

What do you do when he comes into your room and disturbs you? I ask.

He looks at me really seriously and quietly says, PANIC!

I laugh so loud that a nurse comes in, worried that I am upset about the John incident. I tell her what Ants said and she guffaws too.

As I am leaving, I hug my husband and he whispers in my ear, I am making people laugh again, Jules!

So you’ve stopped the grumpy thing? I ask, hopefully (knowing that my gentle man has become uncharacteristically cantankerous lately).

But in just these few minutes of saying goodbye, he has gone somewhere and there is no point trying to follow him.

So I go to where my sobs won’t be heard – the disabled toilet near the exit from the nursing lodge – then I wash my face, put my lipstick back on, and go back to say seeya to Ants.

Panic.

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